


Thousandth Morning

by the_pen_is_mightier



Series: waking up to you [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, They love each other, morning fic, waking up fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: They wake up together once again. Crowley is slowly getting used to it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: waking up to you [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504895
Comments: 30
Kudos: 231





	Thousandth Morning

It smells like pollen out the window. It reaches Crowley’s nose slowly, and he opens his eyes blearily; the sunlight is rich and thick as it pours through the slats in the blinds. Crowley is warm with it, lying here in the comfort of a bed he’s come to know better than any other. Better even than the one he slept in once for a hundred years. He lets a smile steal over his face as he rises back into consciousness; it smells like pollen, and he has not had any nightmares. 

“Crowley?” 

Crowley has been lying facing the window; the first thing he saw was the light. Now he becomes aware that a soft chest is pressed against his back, and warm, plump arms are holding him tight around his middle. He didn’t notice immediately, or didn’t think to notice. They’ve become such a permanent fixture of his mornings now.

“Mmm,” says Crowley vaguely. “I’m awake.” 

“I thought you were.” A nose nuzzles into his hair. “How did you sleep, darling?” 

Crowley’s hands have been curled under his head; he extracts them and lays them gently over his angel’s hands, there as they cradle him closer. He dips his head to kiss Aziraphale’s knuckles. “No nightmares.”

“None for me, either,” says Aziraphale, his smile tangible against the back of Crowley’s neck. 

It’s been a long time. Crowley has stopped counting the days, the months, the years; it doesn’t matter now, they have eternity. At the beginning he thought he was going to have to chronicle each second, hide each precious drop of Aziraphale’s devotion and hoard them all, but he wouldn’t now even if he could; they flow around him like a river, too much to collect in handfuls, and he’d rather simply be overwhelmed by them. 

“What are you up to today?” Crowley asks, focusing his mind once more on the feel of sunlight on his skin. “Headed over to the bookshop after breakfast?” 

“Oh, I thought I’d wait to open until afternoon.” One of Aziraphale’s hands moves up to stroke Crowley’s jaw. It’s a soothing, rhythmic sensation, a perfect companion to the sun. “If you don’t mind spending the morning with me.”

Crowley laughs. “Yeah. Real danger of that, angel.” 

He does remember the first morning they spent like this. He remembers his thoughts, when he first woke up with Aziraphale in his arms, first caught a glimpse of his angel’s sleeping face, his pillow-tousled curls. He felt like his heart was breaking all over again. After everything that had happened, Aziraphale discorporating, the world nearly ending around him, he was only desperate to cherish this happy ending while he had it. He held Aziraphale tight to him and told himself _don’t ever forget this. This is the most beautiful thing the universe has ever given you._

But he thought - oh, of course he figured it couldn’t last. Not consciously, perhaps, but he was sure they’d settle apart again after the rush of freedom had worn off. They’d have an argument and storm off to mope for a hundred years until misadventure brought them back together. Or they’d be forced apart again, when Heaven and Hell wised up to their ruse. Or Aziraphale would grow tired of sleeping next to him, of waking up with him so close, of spending hours and hours away from his books and desks and in the embrace of a demon. Beauty like this, _happiness_ like this, didn’t last. It was a burst in the sky like a shooting star. 

And yet, against all odds, it lasted. Days and months and years now it’s endured. Aziraphale comes back and back to him, always with his same smile and the same light in his eyes, and it only seems to grow brighter the longer they’re together. As if Crowley is drawing it out of him. As if - ludicrous, even to think it - as if Aziraphale has wanted this just as badly as Crowley has, and is just as awed and bewildered that they get to have it. 

“What do you say we go out for breakfast?” Aziraphale murmurs. 

Crowley pulls Aziraphale’s arms tighter around him. “Mnh. I want to stay in bed with you.” 

Aziraphale chuckles and kisses him. “If you had your way, you wily serpent, we’d never get out of bed at all.”

“S’comfy in bed.”

“I would be decidedly _more_ comfortable if I had something to eat.” 

Crowley lets out a drawn-out, exaggerated groan and extracts himself from Aziraphale’s arms. It might be cold, leaving that embrace, but the sun’s still streaming in through the window and Aziraphale still loves him, and Crowley knows he loves him, and so he still feels plenty warm. He leans over Aziraphale and kisses his forehead.

“Don’t move,” he says. “You’re getting your breakfast in bed.”

It’s probably the thousandth time Crowley has made this exact declaration, but the response never changes. Aziraphale flushes, half-pleased and half-embarrassed. “Oh, Crowley, dear, you don’t have to -”

“Shut up.” Crowley softens the words with another kiss, this time on Aziraphale’s nose. “Can’t have you uncomfortable. And this way we get to stay in bed.” 

Aziraphale beams up at him. “Crowley. You really are such a sweet demon.”

“Eh.” Crowley shrugs, turning so Aziraphale can’t see his grin. “I don’t have a lot of competition as far as demons are concerned. Just don’t go spreading it around, all right?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

How is it possible that this is their forever? Crowley still wakes up sometimes and doubts it. Still he finds the fear creeping back in, telling him that he’s being naive again. Still he finds himself wondering if someday his arms will be empty again. But Aziraphale loves him, and Aziraphale holds him, and Aziraphale doesn’t leave his side. 

He’s stopped counting the moments. He’s stopped telling himself furiously to hide them away. They’re free now, he’s free, and he can take as many moments as there are stars in the sky and there will still be more. 

It smells like pollen out the window, and there is no reason for fear. _No nightmares._

**Author's Note:**

> Like my content? Find me on tumblr @[whatawriterwields](https://whatawriterwields.tumblr.com)!


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